


No Rush

by bluesyturtle



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Accents, Coda, Drug Addiction, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Season/Series 02, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 19:44:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11516142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesyturtle/pseuds/bluesyturtle
Summary: 00 hours : 03 minutes : 26 secondsA missing scene from Mumbai Sky Tower.





	No Rush

**Author's Note:**

> I really tried with the Irish accent, you guys.
> 
> Also I tagged this as mildly dubious consent bc these boys are on a bunch of drugs when this fic takes place. They're both into it, but like I said, drugs.

The burnin’ end of a cancer stick or a shiny red Ferrari sittin’ pretty in front of some arsehole’s million dollar mansion. A lass or fella damn easy on the eyes or inexperienced or both—seein’ as those things have always coincided far more often than advertised. The fabled maidenhead eternally destined for rupture. Any experience that could be chalked up to a first time.

Three of ‘em flashing red hot across the spinning bars of a slot machine. Pretty please with just one on top.

Cass had been saving the cheerful bit of maraschino red sloshin’ about in the mucky bottom of his sundae. Only when he was good and ready did he wriggle the fucken cherry stem between his teeth and dangle the soft weight of fruit down over his chin in passive, pleasant invitation. He knew what he looked like. And fine, might be Cass weren’t the most handsome, debonair fecker to ever walk the earth, but he’d damn well walked the earth. He’d seen, known, and loved people as a matter of course. 

For Christ’s sake, yes, as a matter of course because Cass fucken right liked humans, or else what was the bloody point after all? To eat and fuck and kill with no remorse, and all the while hate them for bein’ no different?

Fiore probably didn’t have it in him to hate humans neither, much as he’d said how the world weren’t for him. Or that he weren’t for the world, leastways not without his better half in tow. Cass made himself wait on accounta their shared dumbarse love for people—human or otherwise.

He held off on swallowing down the best part of his ice cream sundae so that Fiore’d let himself imagine forgetfulness for a moment or two. Because Cass had it in him to be charming, but he knew a mite better than to believe he could cure a man of a broken heart the way some people were able to.

He turned his head to return Fiore’s lazy, intense stare under cover of their blanket fort, a partial plan perfectly implemented with the bulbous little cherry bouncing wetly beneath his lip. Fiore, good bloke that he was, didn’t make Cass wait any longer than that.

It weren’t a kiss at first. A brush of lips tickled his chin. The cherry popped off its stem and into Fiore’s mouth. Cass twisted enough to spit the stem out and then faced him. Both of ‘em waited, comin’ down but buzzin’ still from the many substances they’d consumed in the last two hours: speedball, bathwater, maraschino syrup, foreskins, and champagne. 

When Fiore did kiss him, it were a slow thing, cool and controlled-like how Cass never managed to be under pressure. Fiore’d kissed before and figured he wouldn’t want to again, not after losin’ DeBlanc. Maybe he even thought Cass would disappoint him.

Funny the types of things one noticed durin’ times such as these. Cass felt floored a little with how much more he could really feel what they were doin’. People turned to drugs, sometimes, he supposed, to feel less. But Cass always felt more with ‘em. Could be it were his circumstances, his bein’ alive too long or not bein’ alive at all. One of those, maybe, and definitely not just that he was a common addict and had been for well over half a century. Definitely not that.

Fiore’s lips held fast and sure to his, tastin’ of every sweet and foul thing on the earth and in the sky combined—tastin’ somethin’ close to what Cass thought Genesis might’ve tasted like if Genesis could have a taste. He kissed Cass softly, methodical about it like he meant to siphon the breath or life or soul from him. Their tongues touched and Cass closed his eyes, swaying into him. Fiore leaned in closer, droppin’ his head and covering Cass’ cheek with a big clammy hand. They wobbled together, and Cass felt Fiore’s face crumple. He heard him begin to cry.

“Aww, lad, none of that now,” Cass crooned. “C’mere, love. There ye go.”

In their terrycloth robes, it were the easiest thing in the world for Cass to slide his hand in, touchin’ just over the strong heartbeat in Fiore’s chest. The hand on Cass’ face edged around to the back of his neck, Fiore’s other hand comin’ up to his side. Calm as all get-out, Cass followed where Fiore led him.

He swung a leg over Fiore’s hips and crushed their mouths back together, findin’ that he really liked the velvet warmth of the tongue flickin’ against his teeth. Fiore tasted sharp and saccharine, the lingerin’ proof of booze, drugs, and decadence. The tie on his robe made little swishin’ noises as it pulled loose. Cass matched the hands undoin’ his modesty. He’d seen Fiore undressed earlier in the hot tub. They’d touched gently then, tenderly. There weren’t none of that now, not with their graceless fumblin’ and wild pantin’ into each other’s mouths.

Cass saw tears streaked down Fiore’s face, but he weren’t cryin’ no more. The words tricklin’ out of him were for a kind of distress Cass _could_ cure him of, so there weren’t no way in hell he’d be stoppin’ anytime soon. Their hands moved as one around their pricks, eventually endin’ with Cass pullin’ them both off while Fiore held onto him, fingers diggin’ into his shoulders, pushin’ his hips up to meet Cass’ in a dirty, heady grind.

For all the racket the two of ‘em had been kickin’ up, Fiore came quietly, mashin’ his face into Cass’ neck and gaspin’ desperately into his throat. Cass gave him one last squeeze before lettin’ go of his spent shillelagh to get back to pullin’ the wire off himself. Fiore let him do that for a few seconds before knockin’ his hands away.

“Do it in my mouth.”

More than a little stupid with urgency, Cass said, “Do it where, what?”

“In my mouth, do it there.”

Fiore already made up his mind and sat up, overbalancin’ Cass like he didn’t weigh a thing. His legs were already spread wide when his back hit the blanketed floor, so Fiore had no trouble puttin’ himself between Cass’ knees and goin’ down on him. It weren’t totally graceless, all told, but by that point, he wouldn’t have needed much to shoot off like a canon, which he did, as requested, right into Fiore’s mouth.

He pulled off a second too soon and some of it spattered high over his cheek and on his upper lip. Cass wanted to kiss it off him—because fuck it, sex weren’t done correctly if it weren’t a right fucken mess after, and anyhow, they’d put nastier things than cum into their bodies in the last two hours. Some people could get squeamish about eatin’ their own, Cass knew, but he’d slurped this guy’s blood off a church floor once, so what the feck did he care if it were gross to lick Fiore’s cheek and then immediately dip his tongue into his mouth.

Cass didn’t give a shit if it were gross. It didn’t have to taste good to feel bloody great.

Fiore pulled back and Cass could tell straight away that some of the spend had smeared between their lips. He went to wipe it off with his hand when Fiore beat him to the punch, mouthin’ and tonguin’ at him until the worst of it were dealt with. Then he kissed Cass again, unhurried, chaste, even.

Cass had his eyes blissfully closed when Fiore pulled back. He only moved far away enough to dislodge their mouths.

With his lips still right there against Cass’, Fiore whispered, “Thanks for the creamy.”

One stuttered moment fluttered by, then Cass howled laughin’. A few seconds later when he calmed down some, he felt Fiore chucklin’ into his mouth, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there Preacher Fandom. How's it hangin'? :P


End file.
